


A Year Since Moving Day

by johnegbert



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, M/M, well only one blowjob but ya
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-31
Updated: 2012-07-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 03:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/473817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/johnegbert/pseuds/johnegbert
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm always up for celebrations." You say, putting a finger under his chin to pull him back to your lips. He gives you the kiss but he's soon back to his business on your chest. Placing delicate kisses on each scar he finds. You watch him in a loving stupor. You sure love him a lot.</p>
<p>John's voice seems to have a husky edge when he replies with, "I've got the best celebration planned for us tonight, then."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Year Since Moving Day

**Author's Note:**

> i really just wanted to write a johndave blowjob so this is what i ended up cranking out uwu/ have fun even if im still getting the hang of this heheh

You had gotten so used to living with John that you started to forget to be on your toes. A lot of the things your Bro taught you, while very useful, weren't practical in everyday living with someone who wasn't brought up the same way. And John was not brought up to be suspicious when he walked through the house.

You started to lose your edge. You were a pair of fabric scissors being used to cut paper.

You are Dave Strider and you no longer keep your ears open for sneak attacks. 

Not that it was really a problem, living with John. The worst he did was pull the occasional prank, and even then you still manage to outsmart him every time. You were  _not_ , however, prepared to come home today and smell the roses. You'd barely slipped your shoes off at the door when the strong scent of real fucking roses hit your nostrils. The quiet of your apartment was something that wasn't normal. There wasn't a consistent time that either of you came home from your jobs at, but normally if John was home before you- which you'd wager he was here because only he would even think about cheesy shit like flowers- there was the dull hum of a terrible Nic Cage movie that he was watching completely unironically.

You were  _not_  expecting the lights to be off everywhere you looked until you finally gave in to looking into the bedroom. And you were really,  _really_  not expecting to find John in front of the mirror on the closet trying to zip up a  _dress_. A dress that was on his body.

It was mostly a pale blue but had a lot of white accents. The skirt blossomed out, lacy white layers falling on top of each other in perfect stitchings. It came from under the pale blue petticoat which was ruffled at the edges, scrunched up and separated into three sections. There was a big blue bow at the small of his back. You could see white lace popping up around his neck, at the nape, and you assumed there was some sort of fancy front, but John was blocking most of his reflection from you as he tried to pull the zipper all the way up the back of the dress.

He seems to notice you standing there in awe and stops his fussing, his hands coming down to rest on the skirt. "Hey Dave!" He's smiling at you through the mirror, and you can make out a bow on the front of the dress at his neck. "Can you zip me up?" Without hesitation you walk up behind him, taking the tiny blue zipper between your fingers and tugging it all the way up.

John turns around when you're done and he gives you a bigger smile. "I hoped I'd have it on before you got home, but the damn zipper gave me trouble!"

You have a chance to take in the entire dress now, and there is a  _lot_  more lace on the front than there was in the back. The short, puffy sleeves are graced with tiny string bows circled with a line of thick lace. The bosom appears to resemble that of a tuxedo, if it had a ruffled edging on it. Blue buttons travel down the white faux tuxedo front, disappearing behind a white and blue bow right at his navel. The skirt poofs out there, and you note the scrunched sectioning is in the front as well.

You never thought you'd be into something like this, but John looks  _breathtaking_  in the dress.

Your hands grasp at the ear pieces of your shades, and you slip them off, wanting to get a full color view of him. His cheeks are beginning to paint themselves pink because he can see you checking him out now. "Do I look stupid...?" He asks carefully, his chin turned to the floor but his eyes looking up at you. You want to assure him he does not look stupid but your voice is unironically caught in your throat.

All you can do to show him that you like what you see is to cup his cheek and kiss him. He seems to get your meaning rather quickly, because his hands slip around your hips and pull you against the soft cotton of the dress. He holds you as though you gave him the world and he only wants to thank you. Like you're the only thing that matters. You know that's how you feel about him and sometimes you like to pretend that's how he feels about you.

When the two of you pull apart gently he leans into you, pressing his forehead against yours and closing his eyes. He takes a deep breath and smiles. "I love you." He says softly.

You nod against him. "I love you, too. In the biggest, gayest, most homosexual way possible. My love for you is gayer than the love child of Neil Patrick Harris and Ellen DeGeneres. And I only pick them because they're the first gay people I can think of and I know that if they had a lovechild that would be a straight relationship but I think you get what I mean." John pecks his reply into your lips which makes you smile. "I thought you would."

This time he kisses you, and you feel his tongue snake its way into your mouth, tangling with your own and reminding you of his taste. He leans deeply into you, holding you closer and kissing you deeper. You know he's on his tippy toes because he's a whole head and a half shorter than you are, so you slip your hands under his ass and lift him up to you. His arms rise up to hook around your neck instead, linking together behind your head.

Breaking the kiss, you breathe against his lips heavily. He's out of breath, too, but he doesn't seem to notice. "What's the occasion? You seem to have something planned for a good reason." He grins and nods over to the bed, so you step backwards until you both fall onto it.

"Today," he starts, situating himself on your lower abdomen. You think you feel the rustle of silk panties under his skirt, but you don't care to ruin the surprise at the moment. ", well one year ago today." He amends, slipping his hands under your shirt. "You asked me to move in with you." You almost want to laugh at him because you don't feel like its  _that_  important of an event, and certainly not one that earns a welcome home to the smell of roses (where is that coming from??) and the man of your dreams draped in women's clothes.

You don't, however, because it means something to John. And if it means something to John, that's all you really need to know. "I wanted to celebrate us... coming together." He chooses his words carefully and you wonder if he means something else as well. His hands move up, pushing your shirt with them. He manages to maneuver you out of the article in a matter of seconds, but his hands keep feeling around your body. Fingertips tracing scars from strifes past (mostly between you and Bro, but there are some from friendly fights between you and John as well.), tracing your ribs, circling patches of orange freckles. 

"I'm always up for celebrations." You say, putting a finger under his chin to pull him back to your lips. He gives you the kiss but he's soon back to his business on your chest. Placing delicate kisses on each scar he finds. You watch him in a loving stupor. You sure love him a lot.

John's voice seems to have a husky edge when he replies with, "I've got the best celebration planned for us tonight, then."

His hands on your body leave trails of fire up and down your skin, and when you feel his fingers glide under the waistband of your underwear you breathe a quite " _oh_ " in response. Blue eyes trace up your skin and sink into your own red ones, salmon colored lips curling into the most devilish smirk you've ever had the pleasure of resting your eyes upon. It's a smirk that you recognize because it normally appears when John thinks he's got a funny idea, or when he thinks he knows how to crack your perfectly sculpted pokerface. You realize the latter of the two reasons is probably what is going on now, and you come to terms with the fact that he probably will demolish your pokerface. If he doesn't do it now, he'll surely do it by the end of the night.

His lips attach to your neck, sucking red-violet bruises into your pale, freckled skin. You don't really mind, and you couldn't care less if anyone saw. You  _want_  them to know. You want them to know that  _John Egbert was here_ ; you belong to  _him_. Piano fingers are still gripping your hips under your clothes. Thumbs rubbing circles into the front of your pelvis and fingers kneading aimlessly. You start to wonder if he's going to bring that show around to the main attraction when his lips start to travel down your chest instead.

"F- _Fuck_ , John." You rasp, your own fingers clutching up his back, settling on the nape of his neck. You feel your sculpted marble falling apart as his lips connect constantly with your skin. Touch, kiss, suck, lick and then move down another inch. He has a planned route and he knows what he's doing. Knows how he's making you feel, and he doesn't even have to look up at you to know. He's had this figured out for months. You don't know how you never noticed. You smooth circles into the nape of his neck, fingers getting curled in the short hairs that rest there. 

John's chin brushes the waistline of your jeans and it brings his lowering to a halt. He begins to kiss your navel deeply, his tongue swiping over the skin insistently. Sucking on it until there's a red splotch there that you know probably won't be gone for a while. When John finally pulls away from your skin, he doesn't go far. His breath is still rolling over the now chilling spot as he says, "What is it, Dave?" His eyes reach yours once more, lips curled upwards and his stupid overbite showing proudly. He, of course, knows what it is. He wants to hear you say it.

You pull your arm over your eyes, John's intense stare getting to be too much for you, and you bite back a sigh. "Get on with it, Egbert." You grunt out through closed teeth. You hear (and feel) him laugh at you.

"You would have thought Bro would have taught you some  _patience_." Is his calm reply, but you feel his hands slightly move up so he can push your pants down.

The air hits you before John's mouth comes back and the cold air of your shared room caresses your now freed erection. His lips place themselves exactly where they'd left off, and he continues his downward movement until his chin is nestled in the blonde patch of hairs at the base of your cock. A loving hand comes to stroke up the appendage; its touch is feather light and makes you shiver. The hand moves out of the way for John as he plants kisses up along the underside. He reaches the top and his hands reach up your body, patting at your ribs gently; he's trying to get your attention. "Look at me, Dave." He says softly, and you move your arm away to watch him.

His eyes light up when you meet his gaze, and he doesn't look away from you as he slides his lips over your dick. You know he likes it more when you don't close your eyes, so you try your best to keep the red orbs locked on his face. The way his lips stretch over your cock, the way his saliva leaves a shimmering path along your skin, the way his cheeks are flushed red. John is the most beautiful when he's concentrated on a project and boy howdy is he concentrated on sucking you off. 

The delicate pads of his fingers wrap around however much of your cock he can't fit into his mouth, pumping gently at it as he rubs the flat of his tongue gently along the underside. Your hands slowly make their way back down to his head, curling tanned fingers into dark hair and tugging lightly. He hums around your cock at this which only makes you tighten your grip.

Lips slip down your shaft and you almost keen as John carefully tries to let you into his throat. You do your best to not thrust into his face, you feel his hands push against your hip, pushing them down, keeping them still. His eyes fall closed, you see the start of a tear in one of them. You pull one of your hands out of his hair to wipe it away.

"You're-You're doing great, baby." You say with a shaky voice. Your cool-kid shell is  _finally_  broken down, and that seems to give him all the encouragement he needs to nestle his nose into pale curls. You know he's on the verge of choking, and while you're pretty sure that would be really hot, you don't want to see your best friend- your boyfriend- choke because of  _you_. You drag your fingers soothingly up and down his cheek. "R-Relax." You coo. "You feel amazing, b-but you need to relax."

He starts to relax, you feel the deep breaths he's taking through his nose, feel them wrack through him, feel the inevitable choking become not so inevitable anymore. After a minute, his hands release your hips, they move to grip behind your thighs and you take it as a green light.

You thrust gently at first, you really don't want him to choke on your dick, but when John suddenly opens his eyes again staring right at you with every bit of love you feel for him in his blue pools... you know he can take this. You're soon fucking John's face with little regard. The enthusiastic moans and sighs you feel vibrate around your length assure you that he's fine, more than fine even, and loves it as much as you do. Moon-shaped indents on the back of your thighs are sure proof of that note.

You're steadily hitting the back of his throat, when you feel him tug at your hips again. You stop immediately, the unspoken sign to back off a second works your brain harder than the lust does. But instead of him being in pain like you'd assumed, it seems like he just wants to take things into his own hands as he licks up and down your cock again. He swirls the tip in his mouth, licking at the completely exposed head like it was what he was born to do. His hands are working your base steadily, twisting it like you would yourself, kneading your skin in ways that should be completely illegal. Breathy sighs spill from your lips; a chorus of moans and "fuck, John"s filling the air around the both of you. It climbs the walls and bounces off the ceiling back into your ears, it makes you want to feel embarrassed by how loud and expressive you're being but you can't bring yourself to care. John is easily a thousand times louder than you are- his slurping and licking and sucking is a choir of its own- all of his sounds are hitting your ears as well. Making your dick swell even more. Making your heart pound in your chest. More importantly, making you hang on tighter; come apart faster. 

The amount of effort it's taking for you to actually look at John opposed to just squeeze your eyes shut and let your head roll back is astounding. You try to focus on his eyes. Beautiful, oceanic eyes that are emptying the tail ends of tears that you didn't wipe away. Eyes that are filling with the impending completion of his job- or rather with  _your_  impending completion. Dancing with specks of lust, a promise for a full night. Your own eyes are overly emotional ("You gotta hide those, lil man. Striders need to keep emotions in check but our eyes give us right the fuck away.") but John's eyes put yours to shame. You can see everything, literally  _everything_ , he's feeling through his eyes. The lust, the pride, the joy, the happiness. The love. John's eyes are your favorite books, and you never want to stop reading them.

The idea has you lost for a good while. John's mouth slipping off of you leads you back to the task at hand. He smiles his bruised lips at you. His question is in his eyes, but you let him use his voice anyway. "Will you come on my face?" His voice doesn't shake, it hasn't shook in a while.

Hearing the question still has the same effect on you, however, as you make a conscious effort to hold off your own orgasm so you can answer him. "Do you even have to ask? _Fuck_." You take a moment to look him over, pulling him back gently by a soft tug at his hair. He cocks his head to the side as he watches your eyes trace up his body. "I don't want to make a mess of your pretty dress, baby." You say, slowly. You do want to make a mess of his dress. You don't want him to be upset about it though.

His lips stretch wider, and to you they look more beautiful than anything. They're purple-ish now, swollen from his work. Their tint is a stark comparison to his pale skin, even if it is flushed with blush now. His hands twist and oh-  _oh_ \- you'd forgotten he hadn't let go of your dick. "I don't mind." Is his reply. His right hand is pumping you steadily as his left removes his glasses. He speeds up after they're set aside, eyes locking with yours again. "I don't care if you ruin the dress." He says, left hand idly sliding along white lace. "Just want you to come." He presses a final kiss to the head and you're through.

It comes out in ribbons, streaking John's pale face with white tracks of it. Your cum all over John's perfectly pale skin. Some does fall onto the dress, but not as much as you had anticipated. There are three full strings of cum that stretch from his chin to his forehead, in addition to a few partial strings of it. John's eyelids are closed now, they too are stained in white. He's wearing a smile on his lips though, leaning forward a little bit to lap up any droplet that remains on your softening cock. His hands leave you, pointer fingers running over his eyelids and he slips them both into his mouth, licking them clean. It's only then that John opens his eyes to look at you as he licks his lips.

"Fuck." Is all you can say now. "Fuck, fuck  _fuck_." Your hands moving with out your signal, grabbing at John's face to kiss him hard. You can taste yourself on his lips, along his tongue, but you don't care. Your hands slide on his cheeks, cum smearing along your palms. All you can think about is this boy whom is so  _perfect_ , so you don't mind that your hands are probably going to be crusty and gross if you don't clean them off.

You apparently don't have to as John pulls away from your kiss and pulls your hands off his face to lick your palms clean. It's in that moment that you remember his eyes promised a full night.

**Author's Note:**

> oh yeah this is the dress john is wearing uwu/  
> [dressu](http://www.milanoo.com/Pink-And-White-Stand-Collar-Bows-Sweet-Lolita-Dress-p49458.html)


End file.
